Experiencing Hurricane Ike

I live about four and a half hours north of Galveston, where hurricane Ike made landfall Friday night. We learned three years ago how devastating hurricanes can be this far inland as Katrina and Rita wreaked destruction throughout our region. I prepared with extra water, precooked food, extra ice and flashlights and candles. Ready for the weekend, I settled in. Like many of you, I fell asleep watching coverage of the looming storm, but I knew Nacogdoches was in its path. The warnings for Galvestonians were ominous. The worst: "certain death" for those who stayed. We were compelled to see what Saturday morning would bring.

I woke and got about my day as usual, except knowing Ike was on its way. Leslie, my home health provider came early to get me up and to see my neighbor, Roger, before the storm hit. The local station showed updates during Saturday morning cartoons. The irony hits me just now: Disney humor, "impending danger," buy this cool toy, "high wind and flooding." I watched the green behemoth swallow communities moving northward from Houston. I remembered friends in towns like Livingston who were just seeing the eye wall. The telephone rang – a telemarketer with an Indian accent telling me they were in the area, asking if I had internet service. I replied, "we're in the middle of a hurricane." The first bands of wind and rain that were wrapping around Ike like tentacles of a giant sea monster arrived around ten o'clock, whipping us with rain and wind. I continued to watch another hour until the trees gave way to the unrelenting wind and power lines fell, cutting us from electricity.

Now came the helpless isolation that these catastrophic forces of nature instill. It is a feeling I rarely experience with instant connection to the world through television and internet. My cell phone was my connection with the rest of the world, but not knowing how long power might be out, I tried to conserve its battery. I chatted with Dana, my concerned girlfriend, and other friends checking in on me. It was actually pleasant. I settled in for a nap.

A little while later I heard the rush of the wind blowing through trees outside. Curiosity got me out of my slumber and to the window. The sky was gray and already leaves were strewn around my yard and the parking lot behind my apartment. In time, things died down a bit – the eye. A neighbor came by, so I and Princess (my dog) went outside – she to potty, I to get the scoop. Kevin, my neighbor, informed me a tree had split in two (he enthusiastically demonstrated with his arms) on the other side of our complex. It was apparently across the parking lot. Limbs of various size were all about. I called another neighbor who was stuck in bed; his provider was not up for driving in the weather. I took him some peanut butter crackers and water for breakfast – a small gesture. He called his provider again who showed up this time. She reported trees were down throughout town and some power lines had blown over too. The weather began to pick up, so I went back inside.

For the afternoon Ike continued to bring relentless wind. I sat outside listening to the howling sound interrupted by the occasional crash of limbs succumbing to the torture and revelers too drunk to know better than run around the parking lot. It was at once humbling and invigorating: I was completely vulnerable to a tree or gust that could tear into my apartment, yet sitting there taking in the grandeur of the sights and sounds of this mighty force of nature. As it moved northward bands of wind and rain came and went. I read from Blue Like Jazz and visited with the occasional neighbor. By six o'clock it was getting dark, but the weather was still unstable.

My neighbor Luke helped me get in bed Saturday night. Without power I read by the light of a dozen candles and listened through open windows as the last remnants of Ike whispered through the trees. Anticipating the power's return I read through the book, watching the hours tick by until twelve-thirty. Hopeful power would return in the night I restlessly tried to sleep. Unfortunately, the power never resumed and I lay uncomfortable in my bed getting hotter and hotter. Early Sunday morning I called another friend, knowing my back-up home health provider who was scheduled to come was unlikely to show up because she has five children. My friend stirred out of bed, himself sleeping restlessly because of the heat, brought a lantern and flashlight, and helped me cool off and get plenty of water. He too reported trees down, as well as lights out and only one street light working. The University had power as well as Wal-Mart. Oh! The envy! We chatted a while, catching up on things since we had seen each other. Once he knew I was alright, he went back home and I got some rest. Sunday morning passed and the home health provider had not arrived, neither had power. I ate an Oatmeal Cream Pie for breakfast (the good ones from Little Debbie) and washed it down with my morning pills (we set them out just in case) and some water. I began reading from another book, Walking with God, by John Eldredge. He was describing a vacation he took where a storm messed up his plans to get things done in his time away. It was to him God's way of saying, "Stop and listen to me." Finally, around nine fifteen, flickers of hope, then power. I called Dana and chatted a few minutes, still conserving battery power. I had sat upright most of the night, so now I could finally lay back knowing I could press a button and raise the head of my bed again as needed.

Laying down felt so good. I reflected on the night. On my friends helping, on the cool breeze now blowing through my windows, on the storm, then the power went out again. How frustrating. I had done everything right and the power guys did not follow my game plan. Now I was stuck lying down. It is one thing to lay to sleep when you can just sit up, but to be stuck there is altogether different. I recalled John's vacation story. "I get it God", I thought. By now I realized I would not be going to church or getting out of bed today. I thought, prayed and went in and out of consciousness. Power came back on a few hours later. I firmly, but gratefully, regained control of my day and sat my bed upright. I waited a while, collecting my thoughts, before turning on my computer. Finally, I was back to civilization. Another neighbor came by and got me fresh water and some lunch. We caught up on the events of the past day and exchanged stories like war heroes. He went along. I sat at my computer watching news from Houston documenting live the devastation along the Galveston coast. The images were compelling. Unimaginable destruction in the wake of a truly awesome storm. For hours I watched reporters and cameramen wade through debris that was once a vibrant coastal community. People who had stayed to ride out another hurricane were desperately trying to get out. Authorities were pleading for people who had left to stay out until it is safe. "There is nothing to come back to," they punctuated with finality.

Today, people were cleaning up. I got up and out. The sky was blue. A northern front brought cool weather. Neighbors reminisced over the weekend. We all made telephone calls checking on loved ones, and took calls from those checking on us. Some ventured to town, going shopping among the crowds or just to see the damage. The stories still come in from the coast and throughout the middle states where Ike continued its destruction. But stories also come in from elsewhere. Saturday Night Live's memorable skit, the latest campaign scandal, sports scores, the war in Iraq and Afghanistan. Life is getting back to normal. Slowly, normal will work its way south. In days, weeks, months. Some will never regain or rebuild what was lost. So is the nature of storms.